The salt marsh wills land and sea into union, existing as a mixture of both but resisting definition of either. The tides continually reshape the landscape anew, flowing through in opaque rivers, both giving to and taking away from the dark mud, a porous substance smelling of a fecundity born from centuries of slow decay. The structure of ordinary places is ambiguous or absent here - infrastructure cannot be built, maps cannot be drawn, steps cannot be surely taken. Few plants survive a life so intimate with the sea, creating instead a long, low meadow of salt hay, luminously green then deeply golden, disorienting in its visual uniformity. 


Crow’s Pasture depicts the often unseen colors of this place and the visions it offers me. I am not devoid of the cultural connotation imbued here - chthonic and primeval, a place of darkness, death, the uncanny and abject, the monstrous. Monsters arise where boundaries blur; the marshland is an in-between space and it is this liminality that allows allegory to emerge. Each photograph intends to become a threshold as well, a blurring of the lived and the imagined. This is a landscape slowly disappearing and gone with it will be a unique lesson on the refusal of the ideals of light and purity for those of darkness, matter, and the body.